In a haze, I remembered Maxwell's promise to punish Madeline—bind her, whip her. He'd lied.
Now, I was the one bound and broken, tortured by his hands.
He spoke, voice like ice.
"Madeline, how many wolves did this madam send to hurt you?"
"…Eleven," she whimpered.
"Then she'll pay tenfold." He turned to his men. "Find a hundred of the filthiest drifters. d**g her first."
He kicked my masked chin with his boot. "You'll regret ever crossing my mate."
The mask clattered to the floor.
"Maxwell…" I rasped, forcing every ounce of strength into my voice.
"If you knew it was me, would you regret this?"
But my blood-soaked words came out as garbled whimpers.
He didn't hear. He was already leaving, Madeline's hand in his.
"Don't look, my mate. It's filthy. I'll stay with you for days…"
